


I'm Your Moon

by ErinPtah



Series: Truthiness And Relative Dimensions In Space [4]
Category: Doctor Who, Fake News FPF
Genre: Gen, Internalized Homophobia, Pre-Slash, Psi-Moon, Psychological Trauma, Time Travel, Turkish Bath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-29
Updated: 2008-10-27
Packaged: 2019-04-22 02:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14298294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinPtah/pseuds/ErinPtah
Summary: When Four inadvertently parks the TARDIS on a psi-moon, he and Sarah Jane end up touring the physical manifestation of "Stephen"'s many, many psychological issues.Elsewhen, Ten and Jack take the younger Stephen to have a nice relaxing bath.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the Jonathan Coulton song; major props to stellar_dust for introducing it to me. The major setting is lifted from the _Red Dwarf_ episode Terrorform.
> 
> It is actual TCR canon that, when Stephen does Rorshach tests, he sees a lot of butterflies in bondage. I just want everyone to know that.

**The Vortex.**   
_The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Sarah Jane Smith is 29. Stephen Colbert is 44._

"I don't understand why we couldn't have stayed on Gallifrey after dropping off the kid," complained Stephen, as the TARDIS rattled on its way through the Vortex. "You never took me there before. I was looking forward to getting the tour."

Though his objections were usually petty ones, this time Sarah Jane found herself agreeing. "He's not the only one, Doctor! You never talk about your home planet. We get curious."

"Oh, there are good reasons not to talk about it," the Doctor assured them in between yanking levers. "It's stuffy and boring and hidebound and altogether ridiculous. Nearly every other spot in the universe is more interesting than Gallifrey."

With a crash that knocked both humans to the floor, the TARDIS landed.

"This one, for instance!" the Doctor said brightly, ignoring the groans from his bruised and battered companions. "I bet you anything this place is interesting."

"Why?" asked Stephen. "Where is it?"

"Dunno. Let's see what the scanners say."

After the Doctor had hummed over the console for a minute or two, Sarah Jane spoke up. "What _do_ they say?"

"We're on a small satellite planetoid, close to the year three million AD. Flat surface. Breathable atmosphere. No lifeforms detected."

"In other words, boring," summarized Stephen.

"Well, now, I wouldn't say that."

"I would."

"The scanners could always be broken," hedged the Doctor.

"Only one way to find out!" Stephen pushed open the front doors, letting a shaft of nondescript white light into the room, and strode through. "One small step for Colbert . . . ."

Before Sarah Jane or the Doctor could follow, there was a terrific rumbling that seemed to vibrate them down to the bones. The room shook worse than ever; the door swung wildly a few times before slamming shut.

"Wh-what did I tell you?" shouted the Doctor over the noise, his teeth rattling as he spoke. "Interesting!"

⇔

**Higgins' Moon: 2556.**  
 _The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. Jack Harkness is old enough to know better._

Stephen felt absolutely filthy.

He hadn't imagined it was possible to get so thoroughly dirty, but after what he had been through on this planetoid, it was easy to imagine that he would never feel clean again. He hesitated to get back into the TARDIS, lest he defile it permanently.

And it seemed that Jack felt the same way.

"Honestly, Doctor," he griped, "why did we decide it was a good idea to visit a place whose primary export is mud?"

The Doctor shrugged, sending down a shower of dirt flakes from his suit and hair. "There was a temporal anomaly in the area. Someone had to take care of it. And don't knock the mudders! Mud mining is very important to the economy of this system."

Stephen just shuddered. If there was a worse job in the universe than mud miner, he hadn't thought of it yet.

"Is there a system where bathing is important to the economy?" asked Jack, looking dubiously down at the trail his boots were leaving. "I mean, I could use a pretty serious bath, but I don't want to ruin the halls traipsing through the TARDIS to get to one."

"Good point," said the Doctor. "Besides, I had to get rid of the really nice bath a few regenerations ago. Poor thing sprung a leak. Hm, how about sixteenth-century Budapest? Everyone talks about how the Romans elevated bathing to an art form, but for my money a good Turkish bath is hard to beat."

⇔

**????: 2,999,404 AD**

The rumbling subsided as quickly as it had begun.

"Better get Stephen back in here before that happens again," said the Doctor briskly, picking himself up. "Or at least, make sure there aren't falling rocks involved."

"I'm glad you have your priorities straight," replied Sarah Jane, who had just been thrown on her backside twice in a row and was loath to do it a third time.

"Always!" agreed the Doctor, throwing the door open and stepping out.

Immediately, as though picked up by an invisible hand, he was thrown back in and crashed to the floor.

"Doctor!" exclaimed Sarah Jane, running to his side.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," insisted the Doctor, waving her off and rubbing the back of his head. "Can't think what that was, though! Didn't feel like a lifeform, or an energy being, or any levitation field I've ever been in."

"What about antigravity?"

"There's a thought." The Doctor frowned, getting the distant expression he wore when having an internal debate that he presumed was light-years beyond Sarah Jane's comprehension. He was probably right, of course, but it was still a little irritating when all she got to hear was his conclusion: "Yes, it could certainly be antigravity."

"Though you did say the planet was uninhabited."

"So I did, so I did." He lapsed into that expression again.

This time Sarah Jane didn't wait for him to finish thinking. "I'll just go check for myself, shall I?" she said, and walked over to the doorway before he could answer.

She put her foot out into thin air.

Before she had time to react, her leg swung back in, as though it were on some kind of pendulum. A good thing, too, because every spare neuron in her brain was being pressed into service to make some kind of sense out of what she was seeing, leaving nothing to spare for keeping her from falling to her death.

"I have it!" exclaimed a voice from the floor. Looking down, Sarah Jane jumped: the Doctor had crawled over on his stomach and was peering over the threshold. "Come down here and see!"

When Sarah Jane had lowered herself to the same level and stuck her head out the door, she felt instantly dizzy. She closed her eyes, but the feeling persisted. "Doctor, _please_ tell me what's going on."

"It's really very simple," the Doctor replied cheerfully. "We're in an artificially modified environment in which the force of gravity is in effect at an angle of ninety degrees to the dominant gravity source in the natural environment around it."

"What?"

"The TARDIS fell on its side. But the gravity in the console room hasn't changed, so 'down' inside this doorway is a different direction than 'down' outside of it."

Sarah Jane considered this for a moment, then cautiously opened her eyes. Sure enough, from this perspective she seemed to be in a perfectly ordinary box lying on a perfectly ordinary floor. Trouble was, as far as her head was concerned, her body ought to feel like it was hanging off the side of a cliff rather than lying flat on the ground.

No wonder she had gotten dizzy. You can't keep your sense of balance when the meaning of 'down' changes from one step to the next. "Isn't there some way to turn the TARDIS back upright?"

"We could always leave and come back. She'd materialize in the upright position automatically. But I don't want to chance missing the coordinates. Besides, it shouldn't be too hard to climb out of this. Just move _forward_ with your lower body, and _up_ with your upper body—and don't forget that they're the same direction."

"Well, when you put it like that, it seems obvious," Sarah Jane muttered.

It was an awkward business. She found herself lifting limbs in the wrong direction more than once, and slipped back into the console room several times. But the Doctor made it out first, and once he was safely outside he was able to give her a hand, until finally both of them had clambered out of the TARDIS and were standing beside it.

"I hope Stephen's had an easier time than we have," grumbled Sarah Jane as she brushed herself off.

"I rather think he has," said the Doctor, in a very odd voice.

Only then did Sarah Jane take a good long look around.

They were standing in some kind of long corridor, boasting high arched ceilings, which seemed to glow as though the sun were shining behind them, and cool white marble floors threaded with gold. The walls alternated between faintly Greco-Roman columns and lavish Renaissance-type tapestries, bursting with color and so huge that you had to step back to look at them properly.

But once you had done that, you could see that every single tapestry depicted Stephen Colbert.

The TARDIS lay calmly on its side next to a gigantic woven facsimile of _Napoleon Crossing the Alps_ , modified to feature Stephen's face and rather more stars and stripes than had been in the original. Across from it was a massive image of Stephen against a blue sky, a bald eagle landing on his arm. Beside that was simply a close-up of Stephen's face, mouth a firm line, eyebrows arched high. On and on this went in both directions, with no indication that the hall changed its decor when at last it turned a corner.

"What is this?" breathed Sarah Jane, a little awed in spite of herself. "The Intergalactic Stephen Colbert Appreciation Museum?"

"Oh, I hope not," replied the Doctor. "He'd be so upset to find it deserted."


	2. Chapter 2

**????: 2,999,404 AD**   
_The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Sarah Jane Smith is 29. Stephen Colbert is 44._

"There you are!"

Sarah Jane and the Doctor, who had been staring in shock and awe at the thirty-foot tapestries printed with heroic images of Stephen, spun around to see their subject in the flesh. His suit was crisp, his tie bright, and not a hair on his head out of place. It was as though the mysterious earthquake right after their landing had passed him right by.

Still, Sarah Jane had to ask. "Stephen! Are you all right?"

"Never better!" exclaimed Stephen, grinning to reveal perfect teeth that all but flashed in the soft light.

"Hold on, Sarah," warned the Doctor, putting a hand on her shoulder before addressing the man before them in a loud voice. "You're not Stephen."

Not-Stephen's grin didn't flicker. "Whoops! You caught me," he said, the picture of a genteel jokester called out on a harmless ruse. "I'm Truthiness. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Of course!" cried the Doctor. "This must be a psi-moon!"

"I don't know what that means," said Truthiness amiably. "But I do know that dinner is almost ready. Would you like to join us?"

⇔

**Earth: 1562.**  
 _The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. Jack Harkness is so old that his dreams are all reruns._

Stephen felt very exposed.

The soft red towel around his midsection hung down below his knees, and there was hardly any more clothing on anyone else in the hot room. This didn't make him feel any better.

For one thing, he was in the company of Jack, whose body could have been designed by a Roman sculptor, and the Doctor, who was skinny as a twig but _owned_ it, which made Stephen look all the more awkward by comparison.

For another, in spite of the dirt that seemed to have made it onto every inch of his skin, he and Jack and the Doctor were by far the whitest people in the room. (People told Stephen he was white, and he believed them, because nobody had ever burned a cross on his lawn. Speaking of crosses, he was also fairly sure he was the only Catholic within a hundred miles. He had the strange sensation that, any moment now, somebody might jump out and demand that he apologize for the Crusades.)

But all of this might have been bearable if the Turkish bathhouse had only provided, well, baths.

There was a huge marble platform in the center of the room, its edges rounded and smooth, on which several men were lying to receive vigorous massages. The walls were inset with fountains like massive, ornately carved stone sinks, and while some of the men by these were washing themselves, most were allowing themselves to be soaped and scrubbed and doused with water by these same masseurs.

Male masseurs. _Young_ male masseurs—none of them could have been much older than Stephen himself. _Gorgeous_ young male masseurs.

It was as if one of his most lavish fantasies had been laid out for everyone to see. He could hardly have felt more naked if he actually _had_ been.

In spite of Stephen's fears, the Doctor didn't seem to notice anything amiss. "Sit back and let the staff lead," he advised. "They're the professionals. But we don't actually have any contemporary coin on hand, so I'm not springing for any perks. That means you, Jack."

"I think I'm offended!" exclaimed Jack. "You think I have to _pay?_ "

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Just stay out of trouble," he admonished, before turning his attention to one of the attendants. "Now, you'll have to be extra certain to get behind the ears, though I understand they were rather larger the last time around . . . ."

"What does he mean by 'perks'?" asked Stephen in an undertone. "Extra water? Scented soap?"

"Not exactly. See those two over there?" Jack jerked his head towards a burly man with a full beard, being rinsed by a boy who was a shade too fair to be Turkish. Greek, maybe.

Stephen had been trying _not_ to look at this particular couple. Not that they were doing anything inappropriate! Surely it was a cultural norm, all that touching, the boy's soft hands running over the man's slick muscles, the kiss on the cheek—

—and then it was a kiss on the lips, and the pair walked out of the room arm-in-arm.

"That's a perk," said Jack with a grin.

"Why would I pay for _that?_ " squeaked Stephen. "I'm not _like_ that! Where would you even get that idea?"

"Hey, hey, easy!" exclaimed Jack, holding up his hands. "Didn't mean to imply anything."

"Good!"

"You play your cards right, you could probably have them paying _you_."

By the time Stephen had gotten over his shock enough to reply, Jack too had been led away.

⇔

**The psi-moon: 2,999,404 AD**

"What _is_ a psi-moon, exactly?" asked Sarah Jane as Truthiness led them down the corridors. The architecture had shifted from a classical hodgepodge to something very modern and businesslike, not to mention on a reasonable scale; but the normal-sized portraits on the walls were still Stephen all the way.

"It's a kind of artificial planetoid," replied the Doctor. "Invented by a particularly lunatic group of humans. Brilliant, but lunatic. Psi-moons are self-terraforming in response to psychic energy."

"Meaning...?"

"Meaning that they change their surfaces based on a person's mind. This one was flat and boring when we landed because there were no minds around for it to reflect."

"And then Stephen stepped out onto it! So it changed to reflect his psyche?"

"That's right. The earthquake must have been from the chaos of the whole moon remolding itself."

"Does this mean that we're basically walking around inside Stephen's head?"

"Exactly! Truthiness here represents some part of his personality. I'm sure we'll meet others."

"Of course you will!" said Truthiness brightly. "I'll introduce you to everyone here. They're a great bunch." And with that, he pushed open a set of wide double doors.

In keeping with the haphazard construction scheme, the next room was a reasonable facsimile of a nineteenth-century Victorian dining hall. Elaborate candelabras hung from the high arched ceiling; the walls were wood paneling hung with austere portraits in gold frames, interspersed with tall stained-glass windows. The windows and the portraits depicted the same subject as every other image in the building, but if by some chance you forgot what he looked like, fifty copies of his figure sat at the long tables.

"I hope you'll forgive us for beginning early," said Truthiness as he led them to a pair of empty seats. "We simply couldn't wait. I'll make full introductions later. You're sitting with Confidence . . ."

The Stephen-clone on the Doctor's side offered a hand to shake. His grip was firm and, well, confident. "This is going to be a great night."

". . . and Heterosexuality."

His twin on Sarah Jane's side leered. "Hel- _lo_."

"Where's the real Stephen?" asked the Doctor, a little curtly.

"He couldn't be with us, I'm afraid," replied Truthiness. "But he's just fine. Well, must dash for the moment. Enjoy your meal!"

He strode away, leaving Sarah Jane to shrink away from Heterosexuality, who was making no attempt to conceal the fact that he was staring at her breasts. "Doctor, can we switch sides?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Earth: 1562.**

"Sir? Come with me, please."

The speaker was a boy a little younger than Stephen, wearing a rich blue cotton wrap with crescent moons embroidered on the hem. Most of his dark hair had been shaved, but what was left curled softly on the crown of his head. Like all the other attendants, he was stunningly beautiful.

"O-okay," said Stephen shakily. "But no gay stuff."

The other boy's face lit up. "You speak my language!"

"Uh, yes." Stephen cleared his throat and tried to look as though he had planned it that way. "It's a gift."

"Forgive my enthusiasm, sir," said the boy, leading Stephen over to an open fountain. "It's been so many years since anyone has spoken to me in my mother tongue. Please, sit down."

As he sat on the low marble shelf and had warm water poured over him, Stephen put it together. The TARDIS automatically rendered everything he heard into English and everything he said into the local vernacular, which around here meant ancient Turkish. But if Turkish wasn't this boy's first language, the TARDIS would make Stephen appear to be speaking whatever tongue he knew best. It was all very Pentacostal.

Stephen was trying to think of a way to figure out what language the other boy _was_ speaking—it wasn't the kind of question you could just ask outright—when he felt his head being pushed forward and down. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

"Sir, I must wash your back."

"Oh," said Stephen. "I guess that makes sense."

He was still tense, though, as he allowed himself to be bent forward.

⇔

**The psi-moon: 2,999,404 AD**

"Is it safe to eat this stuff?" asked Sarah Jane. "I don't want to accidentally chew off one of Stephen's neurons, or something."

"Perfectly safe!" said Confidence from her left. "Dig in!"

This would have been more reassuring if Sarah Jane hadn't figured out that Confidence said everything, however nonsensical, with utter certainty. She turned to her right. "Doctor?"

"Hm?" said the Doctor, who was helping himself to a generous serving of peach cobbler. "Oh, yes! Not everything here is deeply symbolic. The food is nothing more than Stephen's idea of a good meal."

Sarah Jane took a burger from a tray in the center of the table. It was thick and juicy, with grease leaking through the bun and dripping down its sides. "I'm surprised his arteries haven't completely solidified."

"Don't be silly," said Confidence. "His diet is perfectly healthy."

Ignoring him, Sarah Jane took a cautious bite of the burger (which was delicious, if nothing else) and turned her attention to the rest of the table.

Now that she had the time to study them at her leisure, she could see that the various Stephens were not in fact identical. For one thing, they were all in different suits, in variations of grey, black, and navy with the occasional pinstripe, and a fine variety of ties. But there were subtler differences, and the more she looked for these, the more she saw.

Confidence, like Truthiness, had perfect hair, along with a notably strong chin. Heterosexuality, on the far side of the Doctor, had a shorter haircut and a tendency to leer that Sarah Jane had already marked. One of the Stephens sitting across from her, who had introduced himself as Charm, was slightly fitter, with a few locks of hair falling boyishly across his forehead. Beside him was Guts, wide-eyed and just muscular enough that it showed in spite of the suit. And Piety, next, was the only one in white, quiet and subdued with a rosary around one wrist.

She wasn't sure which of them was trying to play footsie with her under the table. Guts would have, well, the guts, but she wasn't sure he was that subtle. Charm, on the other hand, seemed too gentlemanly. Unless this was Stephen's idea of being charming.

In spite of all these variations, though, Sarah Jane couldn't shake the feeling that there was something missing. She had seen Stephen in enough situations to realize that his mask of perfection slipped, and often. Even the most disheveled of these Stephens was no more than artistically rumpled.

"Excuse me," she said to Confidence. "Is there anyone here named . . ." It would probably be impolite to ask about Insecurity, or Fear, or Doubt. ". . . Childlike Wonder?"

"Never heard of 'im," said Confidence. "Have some Doritos."

⇔

**Earth: 1562.**

"You really must relax, sir," said the attendant, after making his third attempt to lift one of Stephen's arms only to have it reflexively yanked away.

"I'm relaxed!" insisted Stephen. "Is this going to take long?"

"Very long, I'm afraid. You're quite a mess."

"I'm not _usually_ a dirty person," Stephen grumbled, looking askance at the rivulets of brown water flowing away around his feet. For ten minutes now the other boy had been alternately rubbing his skin vigorously with some kind of rough mitt and pouring more warm water over his head, and it still wasn't coming off clear. "Most of the time I'm very clean. This is a fluke. You get that, right?"

"I believe you, sir."

"Good!"

"And you will be clean again soon, if only you will allow me to do my job."

Stephen took a deep breath. _This isn't wrong,_ he told himself firmly, not for the first time. _He's just doing his job. And, given that his job is to bathe me, the fact that we're both wet and slippery is perfectly natural._

"Please, sir," said the boy, putting a hand on Stephen's knee and looking him in the eye. "Trust me."

His eyes were soft.

His hand wasn't, but it was the one with the mitt on, so that couldn't be helped.

_This isn't wrong._

Stephen swallowed. "Okay. I'll trust you."

⇔

**The psi-moon: 2,999,404 AD**

"I can't believe it. Stephen imagines himself having his own flavor of ice cream?"

"Oh, no, this is an actual flavor," the Doctor assured her. "Ben & Jerry's started making it in 2007. I'm pretty sure the Colbert-themed toppings are all in his head, though."

"Let's hope so," said Sarah Jane, pouring a heap of C-shaped red, white, and blue sprinkles on her bowl.

She was spooning up the last of her helping when the tink-tink-tink of a spoon tapped on a glass echoed around the room. The conversation stilled as all eyes turned to the head of the table, where Truthiness was standing and signaling for their attention. "A moment, a moment please! . . . Thank you! I'm so glad all of you could grace us with your company this evening. I hope you've been enjoying your meal?"

There was a general murmur of assent all round, and several glasses were raised.

"That's great," said Truthiness with a broad and toothy smile. "It's been a pleasure, a real pleasure. Now, I hate to rush you, but do try to finish quickly. We have some really fine after-dinner entertainment planned, and it would be a shame to keep the executioner waiting."

⇔

The first thing Stephen became aware of as his consciousness returned was the fact that he ached. All over.

The second was that it was very dark.

He sat up slowly, feeling hard dirt under his palms, hearing the rustle of trees around him. "Hello?" he called tentatively. "Doctor? Sarah Jane? Anyone?"

There was no answer, but not far off, a twig cracked.

And, on second thought, some of that rustling sounded remarkably like heavy breathing.

"Okay, a quick correction," Stephen said into the darkness. "When I said 'anyone'? I didn't actually mean it."


	4. Chapter 4

**The psi-moon: 2,999,404 AD**

"Executioner?" exclaimed Sarah Jane, as the various aspects of Stephen around them began to rise from their places and move towards the door of the dining hall. "Doctor! We can't let this happen!"

"Hush, Sarah."

"But they're going to _kill_ someone! As _entertainment!_ And what if it's Stephen? I know Truthiness said he was all right, but—"

"Surely you don't trust anything that man says?"

"Well, pardon me for not having your magnificent Time Lord truth-sense."

"Who said anything about truth-sense? It's right there in his name!"

"What?"

" _Truthiness,_ " said the Doctor patiently. "That which one wishes to be true, regardless of the facts. If that aspect of Stephen claims that Stephen is fine, the only thing we can infer from that is that Stephen _wishes_ he were fine. For all we know, the truth could be the exact opposite."

"Does that mean there might not be an execution at all?"

"Exactly! If there is, of course, we'll stop it, but there's no need to say it so loudly that every Stephen, Stephen and Stephen can hear you. Now come on!"

⇔

Stephen felt his way slowly through the forest. His eyes had adjusted to the gloom, but not much; it seemed to be a cloudy night, and he had already bumped into a tree once.

His memory wasn't much clearer than his vision. He had stepped out of the TARDIS in what he was pretty sure had been broad daylight, though he couldn't for the life of him picture the scenery he had walked into. Then the ground had bucked beneath him, and the next thing he knew he was coming to in a place that looked like nothing so much as his childhood idea of Mirkwood, right down to the glints like pale eyes between the trees.

It was also exactly the kind of place where bears would live. Never mind that it wasn't on Earth. If there was one thing worse than bears, it was _alien_ bears.

But the image of Mirkwood was freshest in his mind when he felt the sticky strands of a spiderweb against his face.

With a thoroughly unmanly shriek Stephen flung himself backwards, brushing frantically at his face with both hands. His heel caught on a rock and he fell, back slamming against the trunk of a tree so hard that the wind was knocked out of him and there was nothing to do but slide to a seat at its base.

It took him several minutes to get his breath back, during which time he was _not_ attacked by a giant spider; but neither was he rescued, and now he was scraped and bruised in addition to being aching, half-blind, and lost.

Stephen hugged his knees to his chest.

He wasn't going to cry. He was _not_.

⇔

**Earth: 1562.**

By the time he was covered in lather, Stephen had finally begun to relax.

The layers of mud from Higgins' Moon were receding, little by little, under the firm and expert touch of the beautiful dark-haired boy. And the more Stephen saw his natural color (if tinted slightly pink by the scrubbing) emerge from beneath the dirt, the more inclined he was to let this other boy take control.

On his own, Stephen never would have come to a place like this. Independent, self-made American men didn't need someone else to bathe them. But since he was here anyway, he might as well enjoy it, right?

When the boy lifted Stephen's soapy wrists and pressed them gently against the wall behind him, he was so calmed that he thought nothing of holding them up obediently while his underarms were scrubbed.

In fact, his mind had come back to the question of language. "Are you an immigrant?"

"That's a strange word for it, sir," said the attendant with a sad smile. "My country became part of the empire several years ago."

"'Became part of'—You mean, you were conquered!"

The other boy started. "Sir, you must not say that!" he hissed, lowering Stephen's arms and directing him to bend over again.

"But that's terrible!"

"I am alive. I eat well. The sultan has passed reforms that make it easier for my people." Another round of warm water was poured over Stephen; this time, except for the white suds floating on its surface, it flowed away clear. "On the whole, this is not a bad life."

"I don't think I could stand it."

"Is there no such system where you live? You must be from very far away."

Stephen sighed. "You could say that."

The attendant pushed him gently back into an upright position, but left his hands resting on Stephen's shoulders. "Well, you are very kind, at any rate."

Without thinking about it, Stephen reached up and touched the softly smiling face.

And then he was being kissed.

Deeply. Thoroughly. With _tongue_.

So accustomed was he to passively accepting what the other boy did to him that he completely forgot to object—for about thirty seconds. Then he pushed the other boy away.

"I _can't_ ," he said, meaning it to be a rebuke although it came out as a plea.

He followed it with "I'm sorry," for no reason that he could imagine.

A moment later he was making for the door, and if not for the slippery tile beneath his feet he would have been running.

⇔

**The psi-moon: 2,999,404 AD**

Stephen pulled off his glasses, rubbed the lenses with his tie, and put them back on. It didn't help his vision at all, but it gave him an excuse to dab briefly at his eyes in the meantime.

"Shake it off, Col-bert," he ordered. "So you're lost and alone and it's dark and cold and there are things out there that might possibly want to eat you. So what? You're an independent, self-made American man. You don't need anyone to hold your hand."

Revived by this exemplary pep talk, he struggled to his feet, ignoring the way his joints popped as he moved. He wasn't _that_ old.

"There's got to be something other than forest eventually," he reasoned. "Just keep going."

⇔

The Stephens filed into a room that seemed to be based on a fuzzy idea of French baroque. The floors were wooden, polished so finely that you could see your reflection in them. The walls were were all paneled in marble, with floral ornamentation in white gold and the occasional recess to allow for a statue. There were also a couple of gold cherubs mounted about; these had baby figures topped with an adult Stephen's head, which was far creepier than probably intended.

To Sarah Jane's very great relief, the tops of the walls did not give way to curved ceilings with paintings on them. She wasn't sure how many images of Stephen she could take. Instead, they turned into windows, mercifully plain rectangles of cloudy glass that allowed sunlight to filter through, though no details of the sky could be seen.

"Can you see anything past the crowd, Doctor?" she asked. They had left the dining room at the very end of the procession, meaning there were now dozens of Stephens standing between her and the main attraction.

"Not much," said the Doctor. "There's some kind of raised platform up at the front there, with Truthiness standing on it. Hop up on that pedestal and see if you can't get a better look."

The pedestal held one of the statues of Stephen, unreasonably buff and clad only in a helmet and a toga. He was leaning on a sword and hefting a shield, and at his feet lay the carved head of someone who looked faintly like Helen Thomas. Clutching the sword, Sarah Jane hoisted herself up to the statue's level and peered forward.

At this point Truthiness, who had been giving a speech about something along the lines of moral character and the pursuit of perfection, announced, "Bring out the condemned!"

A door off to his right swung open, and out came a pair of Stephens with squared shoulders. These were the first Sarah Jane had seen not wearing suits: they were clad in military green, with polished black boots and crisp white gloves. Somehow they managed to retain stiff postures in spite of the wriggling, crying captive between them.

"It's a child!" gasped Sarah Jane, her voice strained with horror. "Doctor! The prisoner's a child!"

"The Need To Be Held," said Truthiness, addressing the prisoner, "you have been sentenced to death. Do you have any last words?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Earth: 1562.**

Stephen was hiding behind the TARDIS when he heard people approaching. He stuck his head out as little as possible, in case some of the bathhouse employees were investigating; but no, it was Jack and the Doctor, both scrubbed pink and gleaming.

"There you are!" exclaimed Jack. "Was wondering where you'd got to."

"I heard—" began the Doctor.

"Nothing happened!" yelped Stephen. "I didn't do anything! And anyway, I don't want to talk about it! Well, we're all done here. Let's go!"

Both adults blinked at him.

"As I was about to say," continued the Doctor, "I'm pretty sure I overheard the makings of a plot to kill the Sultan, and since he's meant to die in his bed and not for another four years at least, I think we'd better nip this one in the bud. Are you coming?"

"No, no, that's all right!" said Stephen quickly. "I'll wait inside. You go on and save the kingdom. Empire. Sultanate. Whatever."

"If you're sure," said Jack.

"Positive. Have fun!"

⇔

**The psi-moon: 2,999,404 AD**

"Do you have any last words?" said Truthiness to the prisoner.

The little boy might have been a very young Stephen, though Sarah Jane was too far away to be sure. "Please," he choked out between sobs, "please—"

The Doctor was already elbowing his way into the back of the crowd. Scrambling down from her vantage point on the pedestal, Sarah Jane followed.

"That's enough!" declared Truthiness. "Open the doors!"

A couple of Stephens must have broken from the crowd to follow this order, for moments later a set of double doors at the end of the room slid open. Beyond them were a massive set of iron bars, followed by darkness. Within seconds of the opening a growl emerged from the depths.

The whole group seemed to draw back at the sound. Even the pair in military dress, now standing on the raised platform beside Truthiness, looked hesitant to approach.

"Obedience! Conformity! Bring the condemned forward!" ordered Truthiness. "It's not like you're Weakness and Cowardice! Anger won't turn on _you!_ "

At the same time, one of the figures grabbed Sarah Jane before she could pass. "Hey there! No cutting! We got here first!"

"Let go of me!" she shouted, too late: two more Stephens had got ahold of her, and she wasn't nearly strong enough to fight off three adult men, or at least the near equivalent.

Another Stephen reached for the Doctor. Sarah Jane was about to yell a warning when the Time Lord turned, caught the arm, and executed a throw that she hadn't seen him use since his previous incarnation. The attacker crashed into several more Stephens, sending them all to the ground.

"Venusian aikido," said Sarah Jane with a grin. "Bet there's nothing in Stephen's mind that knows how to counter _that_."

⇔

**Earth: 1562.**

"Ooh, nice move," said Jack, as the Doctor caught the man who had rushed him in a perfectly executed throw. The attacker went down hard and stayed there. "Where'd you learn that?"

"Venus," replied the Doctor. "A couple of millennia from now. I'll take you some time. See if you can't be convinced to learn some method other than _that_ for defending yourself."

"Oh, come on, Doc, it's set on stun," protested Jack, aiming the gun at two more attackers and firing. They were in the courtyard of the palace where the Sultan was currently staying; it was only dusk, more than light enough to see the masked men clearly. "Speaking of destinations, what do you think of the Planet of the Nymphomaniacs for our next stop?"

"Aww, Jack," groaned the Doctor as another man charged towards him, knife raised. "Don't you ever think of anything else?"

"It's not for me!" cried Jack. "It's for Stephen! Come on, didn't you see how he was looking at the kid soaping him up? He could stand to spend a little time with someone he _doesn't_ have to pay for."

The Doctor's second attacker landed with a thud. "You really think the money was the issue? I know you're an enlightened 51st-century-guy, but didn't you live through the eighties?"

There was a rustling in a tree above them; Jack fired, and a figure came crashing down through the branches. "Sure I did. And a lot of decades before that, right back to the point where I found myself after you 'dropped me off.' What's the big deal? The sexual revolution happened in the sixties, right?"

"Not in South Carolina, it didn't. I think that's it for the assassins."

"Let's hope so. So you think he's just closeted and scared? Well, what do you suggest we do about it?"

"Nothing, Jack. Absolutely nothing."

Jack felt as if someone had stuck a knife in his heart.

This wasn't because of anything the Doctor had said, but because someone had actually stuck a knife in his heart.

"Guess we missed one," he said, and collapsed.

⇔

**The psi-moon: 2,999,404 AD**

It had taken a dozen Stephens working together to bring down the Doctor, with the crude but effective strategy of all piling on top of him at once.

Sarah Jane redoubled her efforts against her own captors, but in vain. Worse, another one had grabbed her from behind, and she was pretty sure it was Heterosexuality from the way he was feeling her up.

She brought her heel up behind her with a sharp kick. There was a yelp of pain as the offending hands let go.

Satisfying though this was, it didn't make much difference in the greater scheme of things. She and the Doctor were both helpless, the little boy addressed as The Need To Be Held was still on track to be sacrificed to the growling creature in the cage, and Truthiness seemed not even to have noticed the commotion.

Suddenly there was a terrific crash from the ceiling, sending the Stephens scattering in all directions to avoid the shower of glass.

"You!" shouted Truthiness over the noise. "Get out of here! You're not invited!"

"Nobody Asked You," snapped a no-nonsense female voice from the ceiling.

Holding a hand over her eyes in case there were still glass particles drifting downwards, Sarah Jane looked up.

The person suspended above them was definitely not a Stephen. Her features were too different, even after you accounted for her gender and the fact that she was completely albino. She wore a flowing blue dress with narrow stripes and a geometric pattern printed along the hem, pinned at the shoulder with a round red brooch. As if all this weren't quite random enough, she sported a massive set of filmy but distinct butterfly wings.

Her figure stood out against a backdrop of jet black. The windows, it seemed, weren't windows at all. They shone with artificial light, but the real sky outside, as seen through the new hole, was pitch dark.

"Doctor! Sarah Jane!" called the stranger, ignoring a string of continued invectives from Truthiness. "Hang On!"

"Not until we save that kid!" cried Sarah Jane.

"He's Just An Allegory. The Only Way To Help Him Is To Help Stephen!"

With that, she swooped down and grabbed them both under the arms. Moments later they were so high that it wouldn't have been safe to object.

To Sarah Jane's surprise, the Doctor looked perfectly happy with this turn of events. "Do you trust her, Doctor?"

"Don't be silly, Sarah," the Time Lord admonished. "There's probably only one being here who can be absolutely trusted _not_ to be under Truthiness' control. And that's the Wørd."


	6. Chapter 6

**Earth: 1562.**

"It's not even the dying I mind," complained Jack as they returned to the TARDIS. "It's the collateral damage. I mean, I just had the most elaborate bath of my life! And besides, I liked this shirt."

"We can get that one washed, if you like," pointed out the Doctor. "In an infinite universe, someone, somewhere, somewhen, has come up with a solution that completely removes bloodstains."

"Great! No rush, though. I can just grab a fresh one before I talk to Stephen."

He looked pointedly at the Doctor, hoping to provoke a reaction; but the Doctor was focused on unlocking the door of the TARDIS as he replied, almost nonchalantly, "Don't do it, Jack."

"I swear, I'm only going to talk to him. He needs someone to tell him there's nothing wrong with appreciating cute boys. Unless you think there's another reason he was so jumpy?"

"Not at all," said the Doctor, circling the console. "He's perfectly petrified of his own sexuality. It breaks rules, which in his mind leads to anarchy and destruction, remember?"

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Talking about Stephen like it's old news."

"Isn't it?" The Doctor actually stopped fiddling with controls at this. "Aww, Jack, haven't you figured it out yet?"

Jack folded his arms in exasperation. "Apparently not. Are you going to tell me?"

"You'd probably get it in a second if you saw his name written down. Stephen Col-bert. He grows up to be Stephen _Colbert_."

⇔

**The psi-moon: 2,999,404 AD**

The Wørd deposited Sarah Jane and the Doctor inelegantly on the grass outside before collapsing beside them. "Sorry About That," she panted. "I'm Not Used To Being Corporeal."

"That's all right," the Doctor assured her. "You're doing very well for your first time. Jelly baby?"

"Can we be serious for a moment?" complained Sarah Jane as the papilløn took one of the candies from the bag proffered. "What if they follow us?"

"They Won't," the Wørd said. "In That Tower, Truthiness Rules. Out Here, There Are Too Many Ugly Truths. He Pretends This Place Doesn't Exist."

The exterior of the building behind them was a strangely curved skyscraper, a giant C-shaped tower of unadorned glass and steel. The only light, aside from the faintly glowing Wørd, was the occasional rectangle of yellow from an open window; the night was dark, as was the forest on the far side of the high stone wall around the building.

"Doesn't look like he'll be able to do it much longer," said the Doctor, walking a few steps down the slope to tap on the wall. Tree branches were reaching over the top, vines hanging down the sides; there was evidently a root growing under one section, which was starting to buckle from beneath. "This barrier can't last."

"It's Usually In Better Shape," observed the papilløn. "Right Now, Stephen's Fears Are Almost Overwhelming Him."

"Then we'll just have to get to him first," declared the Doctor. "Do you know where he is?"

"I'm Sorry. Somewhere Outside The Wall; That's All I Know. Would You Like Help Getting Over?"

"No, no, I think we'll manage." Tossing his scarf into the air and looping it over a tree branch, the Doctor dragged the bough down to their level. "Grab hold, Sarah."

⇔

The eerie silence of the forest was being replaced by a kind of quiet roaring, which did nothing to soothe Stephen's nerves.

When the forest gave way, it was so sudden that he nearly tripped over nothing at all; and then at last he realized what he had been hearing. At the edge of the trees, the dirt sloped downwards and turned into sand, and the sand gave way to water, and the water stretched off without end into the blackness.

He had forgotten how _loud_ the ocean could be.

At least a few stars were visible beyond the canopy of the forest, casting a dim light on the white crests of the waves. Stephen pulled his torn suit jacket closer against the salty wind and looked for a boat, a shack, a campfire, any sign of light from a living source.

He found nothing.

 _This is it,_ he thought. _I'm going to die. I'll wander around this planet until I drop dead from hunger or exhaustion, and no one will ever see me again._

⇔

Sarah Jane had scaled half the wall when it began to waver under her feet. She barely had time to notice something was wrong before the entire section gave way, sending her swinging through to land in a cloud of dust on the other side.

"You all right?" asked the Doctor, climbing through the hole and waving away some of the stone dust with his scarf.

"A bit bruised," said Sarah Jane, coughing, eyes watering. "Scratched. Sore. I've got a touch of rope burn from letting go that branch, and I'm choking on the physical evidence of Stephen's impending terrified breakdown. Other than that, never better."

⇔

**Earth: 1562.**

The name did the trick. Once Jack had heard it, everything began falling into place.

"Stephen Colbert?" he repeated.

"Stephen Colbert," said the Doctor distractedly. He was back to working the console, pulling levers, taking off.

" _The_ Stephen Colbert? The—" _The preeminent media figure of the early 21st century; the deciding factor in the 2008 presidential election; the man who left marks on the culture and the language that resounded for centuries to come._ "—the obnoxious pundit Ianto's always snarking about?"

"That's the one."

"I've seen him on TV a couple of times. Thought he was an idiot." He had to speak up now, to be heard over the grinding of the TARDIS in flight. "That's _our_ Stephen? I mean, sure, he's a bit dense sometimes, but . . . ."

"I've had him in the TARDIS. The adult version, I mean. He's a bit dense, yeah, but he's not an idiot. Just very, very neurotic. Surely you picked that up from watching the program."

"Hard to miss!"

"Of course it is. It's the driving force _behind_ the program, along with everything else he does. His neuroses; his fears; his need for structure and stability, not to mention attention and validation—they shape his career, his life, the place he makes for himself in the timeline. You can't fix him! He's defined by _not_ being fixed!"

"What do you mean, 'can't'? Do you mean that it's impossible, or that you don't want me to do it because it might mess up history?"

"It—it might not be possible. I don't know."

"Well, I have to take a shot at it. If there's anything I can do for him and I don't at least _try_ , I'll never forgive—"

"He's not Gray, Jack!"

The racket of the TARDIS did nothing to fill the deafening silence.

"I'm sorry—" began the Doctor at last.

"What do you know about my brother?"

"Nothing. I swear. Please, forget I even brought it up. But the timeline—"

" _Screw_ the timeline," snapped Jack, and strode out of the console room without looking back.


	7. Chapter 7

**The Vortex.**   
_The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. Jack Harkness is . . . look, he's really darn old, okay?_

"Stephen? Can I come in?"

It was only Jack's voice, but even so Stephen's heart skipped a beat. _Shake it off, Col-bert,_ he thought sternly. _There's no way he can know what you've been doing. Besides, you washed your hands._

"C-come in," he said, forcing calm. "Did you get the bad guys?"

Jack opened the door, pausing to lean on the frame. He was significantly scruffier than he had been earlier; his shirt was clean, but, Stephen realized, this was because he had put on a new one. "The assassins? Yeah, we sent 'em packing. How are you feeling?"

"Perfectly fine!" said Stephen. He wasn't being defensive! He was just . . . guarded. "Why?"

"About that boy in the bathhouse . . . ."

"I haven't been fantasizing about him! Nothing happened! And anyway, _he_ kissed _me_ , not the other way around! It's not my fault! I—"

"Stephen, it's okay!" exclaimed Jack, cutting him off. "It's not a big deal."

"Of course it is!" cried Stephen, momentarily forgetting that there wasn't supposed to be anything to _be_ a deal, big or otherwise.

"It isn't! I promise you, guys having sex is not the end of the world. If it were, the place would've been long gone by the time I was your age."

Now Stephen's heart really did stop.

⇔

**The psi-moon: 2,999,404 AD**

"I was at a resort, you know," said Stephen.

There was no reply.

"A nice, sunny beach resort!" he continued. "With lifeguards, and hotels with air conditioning, and those little drinks with the umbrellas!"

The waves continued to roar.

"I could have just stayed there, you know!" he shouted. "I didn't have to go gallivanting off with the Doctor and get lost on some godforsaken planet! I could have spent my weekend swimming in the Pacific! And walking on the beach! And lying in the sun, getting fanned by hot island me—"

He choked off the word.

⇔

**The Vortex.**

All the color had drained out of Stephen's face.

"No," he murmured under his breath. "Not you, Jack. Not you . . . ."

Pushing himself off of the door frame, Jack took a step closer. "Stephen—"

Stephen jumped unsteadily to his feet and backed up, or tried to; he stumbled on the first step, swayed, and fell to the ground. Half afraid that the kid had passed out, Jack rushed to his side.

He was met with a yelp and a flailing arm, which hit him full in the face.

Jack went on autopilot. He had dealt with plenty of panicking recruits in his years on Earth, working with the Torchwood Institute while waiting for the Doctor to run into him again. Stephen wasn't armed, wasn't trained, wasn't even aiming his blows. After a short scuffle Stephen was pinned on his stomach, at which point Jack simply sat on him.

"Let go!" cried Stephen, kicking helplessly and trying to wrest his arms from Jack's grip. "Get off, let go, oh, God, get off of me—"

"Calm down," said Jack firmly. "We're not going anywhere until you stop panicking. You can't hurt me, and I'm not moving, so just _calm down_."

Stephen redoubled his efforts, but Jack remained unmoved, and finally his struggles slowed. "Okay," he said, limp, resigned. "Do what you want."

Something in his tone gave Jack pause. _He can't mean . . ._

"But, please . . . can it be on the bed, at least? The floor's cold."

For a moment Jack was too stunned to speak. _He can. And he does._

"I would never hurt you, Stephen," he managed at last.

No reply.

"Do you believe that?"

"I . . . believe you don't _want_ to hurt me," replied Stephen slowly.

"Then why are you afraid of me?"

"Because if you could control yourself, you'd be _straight!_ "

⇔

**The psi-moon: 2,999,404 AD**

"Women!" amended Stephen over the sound of the waves. "Hot island women! With topless swimsuits, and huge breasts, and . . . and hair that smells nice!"

In spite of his efforts, something was stirring inside him.

He tried to conjure up more mental pictures of sexy females, but a series of very different images kept breaking through the surface. The Master, ruffling his hair. Papa Bear, in the back seat of the SUV, giving him a knowing smile. Jon, caught up in earnest lunchtime conversation, unconsciously plucking at his sleeve. A nameless man in an Applebee's restroom, pulling him into a stall. The final battle with Conan O'Brien, when Jon had somehow ended up wedged between his legs. A kiss, twenty-five or three million years ago depending on how you counted, from a boy in a Turkish bathhouse . . . .

 _No middle ground,_ he reminded himself. _You're right, or you're wrong. You follow the rules, or you're bad. You support the President, or you hate America. You're gay, or you fight it!_

But there was probably not another creature for miles around, and what was the point of _anything_ , much less fighting it, anymore?

"All right!" he shouted, the words coming all in a rush. "I really wanted to get fanned and smiled at and massaged and kissed by hot island _men!_ "

This was when the writhing mass of tentacles burst out of the water and grabbed him.

⇔

**The Vortex.**

Jack didn't even know where to start.

"If I let you go," he said slowly, "can you promise not to freak out on me again?"

"Promise," echoed Stephen, so Jack released him and sat back, beside the foot of the bed. Stephen scrambled up and crouched on the floor a few meters away, hugging his knees: not as rigid as he had been before, but far from relaxed.

"Stephen, please, just listen for a second," said Jack, holding up his hands. The wary look in Stephen's eyes was almost physically painful to see. "I've never made a move on you before, have I?"

After a moment's hesitation, the boy gave a quick shake of his head.

"And it's not like I've ever been straight in the first place. I was sleeping with men long before I knew you. And women. And people with mixed genders. And aliens whose gender systems don't really map to ours. And . . . I get around, is the point," he concluded, because Stephen was starting to look a little horrified. "But if I had some kind of compulsive need to go after you, wouldn't I have done it already?"

A shrug. He was still withdrawn, but at least he was listening.

⇔

**The psi-moon: 2,999,404 AD**

Stephen was screaming bloody murder.

He didn't care what forest monsters came to investigate the noise. They couldn't be any worse than the tangle of tentacles suspending him above the shore. Hell, maybe they would get in some kind of inter-monster battle and leave him alone!

But it was no use. The slimy things were focused entirely on him, thrashing and splashing and sucking at his clothing and pawing at him (could tentacles 'paw'?) like something out of bad Japanese porn, and the more he struggled the clearer it became that it was futile—

_Zap!_

A beam of red light passed just feet below Stephen. The smell of burned calamari filled the air.

⇔

**The Vortex.**

"I just don't understand," continued Jack. "You _know_ me. We've saved a bunch of planets together, the Doctor and me and you. Why don't you trust me? After all that, how can you assume I would force myself on—"

A sickening possibility struck him.

"Stephen? Has somebody already tried?"

Mercifully, the boy shook his head again. "Aren't any other gays in Charleston."

Jack noted the 'other', but let it pass. "How can you be so sure?"

"'Cause nobody's . . . tried."

The circularity of the logic left Jack's head spinning.

"Stephen, it doesn't have to be like that," he insisted. " _I'm_ not like that! I haven't gone after you, and I never will. Doesn't that count for something?"

The boy still looked nervous, but now there was an almost sulky tinge in his voice. "What, am I not good enough for you?"

"I don't—I'm not—that's not it at all! Stephen, you're a great kid, and I'm sure one day you'll make some guy very happy. But it's not going to be me. You're just not my type."

Jack meant to stop there. He really did.

Instead, he found himself adding, "If you want to know, you remind me of the brother I—"

Breaking off, he looked away.

In a small voice, Stephen volunteered the end of the sentence. ". . . never had?"

"Lost," corrected Jack softly.

The silence that followed was broken by the sound of Stephen getting up.

A moment later he was settling down next to Jack against the foot of the bed, resting his head on Jack's shoulder.

"I tried to protect him," murmured Jack. "I couldn't."

"My brothers," came the reply, "don't try."

⇔

**The psi-moon: 2,999,404 AD**

Another energy beam shot past, and another, and the grip on Stephen began to loosen.

He writhed and struggled until he was tumbling down through the tentacles to land in the water. For a second he was submerged—two seconds—three—and then he broke the surface, gulping air. It was only a few feet deep here, but the water was churning and there were tentacles wriggling all around and he wasn't sure how far he was from shore . . .

"Stephen! Come here!"

. . . but there were more zaps of red around him, forcing the creature back; and there was some kind of lantern on the beach, painfully bright to him even with his eyes closed, and he had a voice to follow.

Cold, wet, dizzy, gasping, he kicked and fought his way towards the shoreline.

He was crawling up onto the sand like a bedraggled rat, waves lapping around his hands and knees, when his mysterious benefactor ran to his side.

The stranger was impossible to identify, silhouetted with the light against his back, but it was a perfectly muscled pair of arms that scooped Stephen up and lifted him into the air, cradling him as easily as a weaker man might have held a baby. As they turned, so that Stephen had to squint against the brightness, he caught sight of the colors stretched across the chest against which his cheek was pressing.

Red, white, and blue. In a pattern he recognized. He'd designed it, after all.

"Alpha Squad," he panted. "T-Tek Jansen?"

"That cheap knockoff?" scoffed a familiar voice. "I think I'm insulted. He doesn't hold a candle to the original."

Squinting over the rims of his water-splattered glasses, which through some miracle were still on his face, Stephen gasped.

" _Jack?_ "


	8. Chapter 8

**The Vortex.**

Stephen didn't know how long they sat in silence.

At some point Jack's arm went around his shoulders. He snuggled closer in response. No words were spoken.

And it didn't go horribly wrong.

At last he ventured, "Jack? Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"You said I'm not your type."

"That's right."

"Well . . . is 'your type' by any chance tall and skinny? With big ears . . . sideburns . . . kind of crazy brown hair? Maybe a tendency to lick things?"

Jack mussed his hair, perhaps a little more roughly than was strictly necessary. "Now, what makes you ask that?"

Before Stephen could answer, there was a knock on the door.

"Hope everything's all right in there, Stephen!" came the Doctor's voice from the far side. "When you're ready, come on up. I've got something to show you."

This was followed by the sound of retreating footsteps. Stephen looked anxiously up at Jack; the older man gave his shoulders a comforting squeeze. "Don't worry. You'll be okay. I've got your back."

⇔

**The psi-moon: 2,999,404 AD**

Only now, when the danger had passed, did Stephen let himself break down.

For several minutes he sobbed unrestrained against Jack's Alpha-Squad-uniformed chest, fears and anxieties and regrets all pouring out in a single frantic stream. And Jack held him, not caring that he was wet and sandy and salty and hardly fit to be touched, until at last the tears began to slow.

"I think," he choked out, when he was spent enough to be coherent again, "I think they left me. Th' Doctor an' Sarah Jane. I, I, I've been such a nuisance—I keep having to be rescued—maybe they've said, enough's enough, this time we're not gonna hunt him down . . ."

⇔

Sarah Jane stumbled, nearly falling, as something in the blackness growled at her.

"Does that mean some part of Stephen hates me?" she wondered out loud, clutching the Doctor's scarf to keep them in contact. There was a bit of light from the manifested Wørd flying high above them, but the sky was still dark and the trees didn't help. "Or is this bit of him just hostile to everyone?"

"I rather think most of him is hostile to everyone," said the Doctor astutely.

"Then why are we working so hard to rescue him?" huffed Sarah Jane. (She was joking. Mostly.)

"Because," replied the Doctor, with perfect seriousness, "underneath all that neurotic mess is someone nice trying to get out."

⇔

"Do you think the Doctor would do that?" asked Jack.

Stephen sniffled. "I g-guess not."

"Of course not. Your friends are doing their best to find you. But they're in danger too. And they need your help."

"What am I s'posed to do? If the _Doctor_ can't handle it, what good am I?"

"Don't be silly," said Jack tenderly. "If the Doctor could fix everything by himself, why would he travel with human companions in the first place?"

"I guess that makes sense."

"That's right. You're the only one who can help them right now. So you need to be strong, for their sakes. Can you do that?"

Stephen pulled off his glasses and rubbed at them, trying not to think how his frazzled and gritty sleeve must be scratching the lenses. He wiped off his face, dabbed briefly at his eyes, and replaced the frames.

"Of course I can be strong," he said, his voice hardly shaking at all. "I'm _Stephen Colbert_."

"That's my Stephen," said Jack proudly. "You can handle this one on your own."

With that, he vanished.

"Jack!" Stephen launched himself forward, grabbing at the empty air. It was no use: one second the man had been there, and the next there was not a trace of him left.

Well, that wasn't quite true. The light was still there.

⇔

"How long have we been walking?" asked Sarah Jane. It felt like days.

"About an hour," replied the Doctor promptly.

Of course. "We can't possibly be planning to explore this entire moon on foot, can we?"

"I rather hope it won't come to that."

"That's not very reassur—"

"Hush, Sarah!"

Sarah Jane hushed.

"You see that?"

His arm was a blurry shadow against other blurry shadows, but Sarah Jane did her best to follow where he was pointing. "Is that—Doctor! Could that be a light?"

"I do believe it could," whispered the Doctor in reply. "Perhaps whatever's following us is only making for the light."

"'Following us'?"

"Of course! Haven't you noticed that hissing?"

She had; but the sound had been going on for so long that it had blended into the background hum of the forest, until now. "You just had to remind me, didn't you."

"Well, I assume it isn't hostile. It hasn't attacked us yet, has it? And don't you roll your eyes at me."

"You can't possibly see that I'm rolling my eyes."

"Doctor! Sarah Jane!" shouted the Wørd from above them. "Don't Move!"

"What is it?" called the Doctor, tilting his head upwards.

"Hold Perfectly Still," reiterated the papilløn, descending rapidly now. "Not Another Step!"

"All right, all right!" exclaimed the Time Lord, still looking at the Wørd as she crash-landed beside them. "What's the hurry?"

"Doctor!" shrieked Sarah Jane, grabbing his arm.

Now that the shining Wørd was on the ground, they could see the landscape clearly. Most of the trees around them were exactly what they appeared to be.

But not a meter to their left, where they might easily have stumbled to avoid a tree directly in their path, was a set of gleaming ivory teeth, each as high as Sarah Jane herself.

" _Kill,_ " hissed the dragon.

⇔

Stephen heard the hissing long before he heard the shriek.

He might have missed it if he hadn't known what to listen for, but the sound was very familiar. It was something he had heard on and off for years, maybe all his life, though he didn't have any clear memories of it from before one of the trips he had taken with the Doctor in his younger days (something to do with a restaurant, and beyond that _he didn't think about it_ ).

There was no pattern to it, except for the fact that it got stronger and clearer, sometimes turning into an actual voice, whenever he was around a gun.

Not until the shriek, though, did he realize that this time he was hearing the hissing voice in his _good_ ear. In his shock he needed another moment to realize that the other voice was Sarah Jane's.

Clutching the lantern, he ran.

⇔

"What _is_ it?" cried Sarah Jane.

"Your guess is as good as mine!" replied the Doctor unhelpfully.

" _Kill,_ " repeated the creature, huge and lizardlike and wicked-looking, scales shining like black metal. " _There is no purpose in this world. Tear it all to pieces. Burn it all down._ "

"Keep Away From Them!" ordered the Wørd.

Her light flickered over dirt and dried leaves and patches of dark shining scales. The dragon wasn't just in front of them; it was under them, around them, part of the very landscape.

" _By what authority do you think I should obey you?_ " it hissed. " _Orders are meaningless. Life is pointless. Let it be gone. Starting with you . . . ._ "

"No!" shouted an unexpected voice.

A light was bouncing towards them—and it was Stephen, clutching some kind of lamp as he ran for all he was worth. He thudded to a stop between them and the beast, panting heavily, shaking his head emphatically at the creature.

"No, Sweetness!" he ordered, when he had got enough breath back to speak at all. "These people are our friends!"

⇔

Stephen had never stopped to imagine what Sweetness would look like, but there was no doubt in his mind that this dragon was she.

Her hiss became a frustrated growl as he stood before her, the lantern glinting off of her massive teeth. " _Doesn't matter,_ " she insisted, voice echoing in his deaf ear as well as his good one. " _Nothing matters._ "

" _They_ matter. They matter to _me_."

The ground shook and the trees twisted, branches cracking, as Sweetness flexed her bulk beneath them. " _They'll die some day,_ " she protested. " _Why not now? It could be now. Let me make it happen . . ._ "

" _No,_ " repeated Stephen emphatically, though his hands shook and the light flickered. "Not now. Not here. You've got to leave them alone, Sweetness. You've got to go."

The next hiss was weaker, angry but wordless.

"Go!" shouted Stephen.

With a great rumbling, the dragon's massive head sank into the dirt.

⇔

Not until the hissing had completely faded did Stephen turn around. "Hi," he said shakily. "Are you guys okay?"

"We're all right, yeah," the Doctor replied. "That was quite an impressive piece of work. How are you holding up?"

"'M fine," insisted Stephen, staggering and dropping the lantern. It crashed to the ground, sputtered, and died.

Shaking out of her shock, Sarah Jane jumped forward to catch the man. "You're soaked through!" she exclaimed as he fell against her. "Doctor! Your coat, quick!"

The Doctor had barely started to unwind his absurdly long scarf when the Wørd lifted it from his shoulders in one go. Between the three of them they soon had Stephen wrapped in the coat, scarf draped several times around his shaking frame.

"I want to go home," whispered Stephen, not saying whether he meant Earth or the TARDIS. "Please, let's get out of here, as fast as possible."

"He Hasn't Figured It Out," remarked the Wørd.

"What's to figure out?" stuttered Stephen without looking up. "I hate it here! If you're one of the natives, I don't see how you can stand it! No one should have to live in a place like this!"

"Stephen," said the Doctor cautiously, "it's _your_ mind."


	9. Chapter 9

**The psi-moon: 2,999,404 AD**

As the Doctor started to pull him along through the forest, Stephen looked from him to Sarah Jane to the mysterious glowing stranger, who half-walked and half-floated beside the company. "I don't understand . . ."

"It's A Psi-Moon," said the stranger. "Everything Here Is A Physical Manifestation Of Something Inside Your Head."

Her voice, too, was familiar, but only with this piece of information did it all come together. "You're the—"

"The Wørd Made Flesh," clarified the Wørd with a wink.

His mind roiling with questions, Stephen latched on to one at random. "How come you look like a human? The last time you had a physical form, you were this little grub thing."

"I Blame Your Bad Influence."

"And Jack . . . ?"

Sarah Jane and the Doctor looked blank, but the Wørd seemed to know exactly what he was thinking—as she always did, whether he liked it or not. "Jack Isn't Here. That Was Another Part Of You."

In spite of his cold wet clothing and the chill of the night, Stephen felt a shot of warmth. _I'm like Jack. At least, something in me is._

"Same With The Dragon," continued the papilløn. "And The Tentacle Monster, The Spiders, The Forest, The Darkness. It's All You."

_Why couldn't she have quit while I was ahead?_

⇔

Sarah Jane didn't know where a tentacle monster came into all of this, but Stephen seemed to understand what the Wørd meant. He started to protest.

"Hush!" interrupted the Doctor. "Do you hear that?"

They all came to a halt. Not far ahead of them was a low but even rhythm, like the sound of a great company on the march.

"Could we go some other way?" whispered Sarah Jane.

"The TARDIS Is Due North," replied the Wørd. "That's Where We Have To Go. Unless You Want To Go So Far South That You Come Around To North Again."

"That would take much too long," said the Doctor, looking worriedly at Stephen. "We'll just have to go through. On we go."

"This isn't me," continued Stephen quietly as they marched on, as if he hadn't been listening to a word of it. "I'm not like this. None of this can be me . . . ."

He was still talking when they stumbled out of the trees into a clearing, and came face to face with the marchers.

⇔

Now _here_ was something Stephen could believe was part of him!

There were no freakish monsters in the small army before them, nor even a single human being who was less than perfect, save the inconsequential uneven ears. They were straight-shouldered and square-jawed, with every hair in place. And it didn't hurt that they all looked exactly like Stephen himself.

He couldn't imagine why Sarah Jane and the Doctor had suddenly gone all tense.

Admittedly, he did nearly panic when the ranks parted to let their leader through. The man's mount, armored like the soldiers in stiff leather adorned with the crests of eagles, was no war stallion, but the most massive bear Stephen had ever seen. "K-keep that thing away from me!"

"It's all right," said the man atop the vicious creature, patting its head. (Stephen ignored the fact that the bear, too, had a bent right ear.) "He's completely under control."

"Truthiness," snapped the Doctor. "Keep your distance."

"It's okay!" insisted Stephen, shrugging off the supportive arms of his companions. "He's one of the good guys! He's even got Captain America's shield, see?"

"That's right," said Truthiness, flashing them a winning smile. "No need to get so defensive. After all, we're only here to burn down the forest and destroy everything in it."

"Don't You Dare," said the Wørd.

Truthiness laughed heartily. "And why not? For years Truthiness Tower has suffered the indignity of being next to this disgusting place. It's high time we got rid of it once and for all."

"See, folks, _this_ is an it-getter," said Stephen with a grin.

"Starting with you."

The bear growled hungrily.

⇔

Opposite his perfect double, Stephen looked even more disheveled than Sarah Jane had realized. His openmouthed shock, in contrast to the smug smile on Truthiness' face, made it all the more pronounced.

She moved to protect him again, the Doctor and the Wørd doing the same. This time he didn't shrug them off.

"Wh-what?" he stammered at last.

"The Forest Represents Stuff In Your Head, Remember?" said the Wørd. "Can't Get Rid Of It Without You Going Too." To Truthiness she added, "Don't Even Think About It."

The smile shifted all at once into a stern glare. "I never think at all," said Truthiness, eyebrows arched grimly at them. "I _feel_ , in my gut, that this is the right thing to do."

"Well, if you feel we're going to let you get away with this, you've got another feel coming!" declared the Doctor.

"Oh, it's not up to you," said Truthiness bluntly. "It's up to Stephen."

Sarah Jane squeezed the man's shoulder protectively. "It's just like with the dragon!" she assured him. "All you have to do is tell him no!"

"It's not that easy, though," continued Truthiness. "Stephen hasn't been in the tower yet, but he can imagine it. Can't you, Stephen?"

Stephen, eyes wide, didn't answer.

"It's a mansion with many rooms. Glorious. Strong. Awe-inspiring. It's just how you would want it to be."

"It's perfect," whispered Stephen.

"That's right. Perfect. Because all the nasty imperfections and ugly truths are kept outside of it. But you've never managed to get rid of them—only to separate them out and keep them down. They're still in your head, still keeping you from being good."

Stephen was shivering openly now.

"We can't have any of that in Truthiness Tower. You've created a place so perfect that you yourself can never be allowed in."

"I—I can be good!"

"Not good enough! This forest, its creatures, all the things they represent—they're part of you, no matter how much you hate them. And you _do_ hate them, don't you, Stephen?"

Stephen's breath came quick and shallow.

"But you don't hate _me_. How can you? I'm pure Truthiness. You can't escape the Facts of what you are. I can!" He swept out an arm to indicate the massed troops at his sides. (Sarah Jane had already picked out Piety and Heterosexuality in the crowd.) "We can make it all go away! Without you holding us back, we can build something _really_ perfect—something made only of the parts of you you like—something worth liking! Why _wouldn't_ you want that? What about the rest of this is worth preserving?"

"He's talking rubbish," said the Doctor vehemently. "Don't listen to another word—"

Stephen interrupted. "He's right."

Truthiness smiled triumphantly.

⇔

Sarah Jane and the Doctor both started to protest. The Wørd shushed them. Stephen was silently grateful.

"You're right," he repeated, louder this time. "I hate this place. I don't want to be anywhere near it. Usually I pretend it doesn't exist—I pretend I'm _you!_ —and people love you, people who would think I was pathetic if they knew the truth."

The massive bear was licking its lips.

"But _they_ don't care!" continued Stephen, nodding at the friends clustered around him. "They know I'm not perfect. They've seen me being weak and scared and uncertain. And they came looking for me anyway! They thought I was worth saving!"

Starlight began to show through the clouds.

"So who cares if I don't like myself?" demanded Stephen. " _They_ like me!"

The sky cleared all at once, blinding them with dazzling silver moonlight.

Truthiness and all his company let out shrieks and ran, but it was too late. Wherever the light fell on them, it went straight through, as though they were no more substantial than colored glass—and, as they discovered when they flung themselves into the shelter of the trees, just as easily shattered.

⇔

**The Library: 4961.**  
 _The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. Jack Harkness is too young for the Doctor, but that's not saying much._

"I don't like this," grumbled Stephen, mostly to himself. "Whose idea was it to cover an entire planet with books?"

"Can't be helped," declared the Doctor. He was at his most manic now, periodically stopping in front of an information drone and bouncing on the balls of his feet in front of it for a second before dashing off again. "Only way to have enough room for every book ever published." He darted down one of the aisles, voice echoing back to Stephen and Jack: "Of course, they could store this all electronically in a single house-sized computer, but what would be the fun in that? Aha! Here we are!"

Stephen looked doubtfully up at Jack, who shrugged. "I don't know what he's up to either."

"Come on, come on!" urged the Doctor, and the two followed his voice down the twisted row of shelves. They found him up a ladder, the soles of his trainers twenty feet from the ground, one hand rifling through an even higher row of books. "Here we go. Catch!"

In spite of himself, Stephen lunged for the falling volume, grabbing it from the air before it could crash to the ground and break its spine. Not that he cared what happened to a _book_ , but still.

Well, now that he had the thing, he might as well look at it. " _America: The Book_ ," he read from the cover. "I like the title."

"I recommend page 192," the Doctor advised him.

Stephen obediently flipped the pages and read the headline that jumped out at him. "'Dressing Like A TV Journalist,' by Stephen Col—hey, that's _my_ na—"

"Look sharp!" cried the Doctor, and Stephen would have been knocked on the head by a volume with a two-inch spine if Jack hadn't intercepted it just in time.

"People shouldn't make books that big!" he exclaimed shakily. "Those things are hazardous! Is it one of those with huge print and wide margins?"

"Tiny print," corrected Jack. "And, whoa, these pages are like tissue paper."

"Even worse! What could anyone possibly want to write that much about?"

"Looks like it's a biography of you."

Stephen gaped.

"Heads up!" called the Doctor, and was about to throw down another when Jack and Stephen both started frantically yelling that enough was enough.

"There are _more_?" breathed Stephen, as the Doctor slid down the ladder with a slender volume clutched in his hand. "How many books _are_ there about me?"

"All of that shelf," replied the Doctor. "And the one above it, and the one above that. And these are just books that deal with you directly. This here," and he held out the third book, taking the first as he did so, "is an index of all the volumes in other sections of the library that mention you."

Stephen took it. His hands were shaking.

"Little Steve Col-bert," said the Doctor, shaking his head admiringly. "The boy who will be Stephen Colbert. Can't tell you too much now—you still have to go through the experiences on your own. But I promise you, your name is going to go down in history."

⇔

**The psi-moon: 2,999,404 AD**

Now that it was illuminated, the path through the forest was infinitely easier to follow. In spite of the exhaustion all around, the rest of the walk seemed to take no time at all.

"Oh, good, the TARDIS landed on its feet," said Sarah Jane as they approached the hill. On its summit stood the familiar blue box, in the midst of the shattered remains of what had once been a tower.

"She does that," said the Doctor proudly.

"There's one thing I don't understand, though," Sarah Jane continued. "We're _on_ a moon, aren't we? How does it have moonlight?"

"That's a very good question." Shielding his eyes, the Doctor looked up at the satellite. "Dear me, those are certainly some unconventional rock formations. Puts Earth's Man in the Moon to shame. Stephen, I don't suppose you know that fellow?"

Stephen looked up at the sky for the first time since the clouds had lifted. His mouth dropped open.

"Know him?" he repeated. "That's _Jon_."

Sarah Jane and the Wørd both gaped.

The Doctor, naturally, didn't even blink. "If it has your friend's face, it's certainly part of the psi-moon," he said without missing a beat. "No wonder the initial earthquake was so violent. The original moon was spinning off a whole chunk of itself."

"Why would it do that?" breathed Stephen. "Are Jon and I, like, some kind of binary-moon system?"

"Do You Know What Those Words Mean, Or Did You Just Get Lucky?"

"Hey! I do listen to Neil DeGrasse Tyson _sometimes_."

"Maybe," offered Sarah Jane, "it means that, even when you can't see him, he's always there."

"Truthiness' troops went transparent in front of him," added the Doctor. "Could it mean that he sees right through you?"

"Maybe You Turn Into A Wolf When He's Full," put in the Wørd.

"Perhaps it's related to the tides," suggested Sarah Jane.

"Jon Makes Stephen Bulge In Odd Places?"

"Enough!" yelled Stephen, waving for silence before someone could make a joke about him and Jon getting moony around each other. (As if _that_ would ever happen.) "You people are giving me a headache. Let's get off this rock and find some less psychoanalytical place to land. And this time, someone else gets to take the first step."

**Author's Note:**

> See also: Serial 4 [deleted scenes](http://reseda.dreamwidth.org/23584.html), [shoutouts & references](http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=26192&chapter=10). There's also [a wallpaper](http://sailorptah.deviantart.com/art/Wallpaper-I-m-Your-Moon-101868463).
> 
> IHasATARDIS confirms it: [Jack is Tek Jansen](http://community.livejournal.com/ihasatardis/479242.html).
> 
> You might also like [the ficlet that explains why Stephen's mindscpe has a tower](http://community.livejournal.com/fakenews_fanfic/191558.html) and [the ficlet where Ace Rimmer meets Tek Jansen](http://community.livejournal.com/fakenews_fanfic/2410.html).


End file.
